Post by Marcus on May 25, 2008 5:06:46 GMT 1
There's not much time to bask,
In the day's dying sun.
The seaside bar is on its last cask.
And soon there will be none.
The fat child stabs and eats his salad,
As I stub into my ash soup.
And as I hear the easy-listening tape go mad.
It's stuck in a loop.
Mothers and baby carriages,
Holding children and cigarettes.
The old and the infirm attracting stares,
With their plastic cups and plastic spoons and plastic chairs.
The day will soon set,
And will be met,
By those who are still around,
And those who will be under the ground.
In the day's dying sun.
The seaside bar is on its last cask.
And soon there will be none.
The fat child stabs and eats his salad,
As I stub into my ash soup.
And as I hear the easy-listening tape go mad.
It's stuck in a loop.
Mothers and baby carriages,
Holding children and cigarettes.
The old and the infirm attracting stares,
With their plastic cups and plastic spoons and plastic chairs.
The day will soon set,
And will be met,
By those who are still around,
And those who will be under the ground.